


Outsiders

by Bilinski_stiles_stilinski



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bruises, Bullied Stiles Stilinski, Hurt Stiles, Protective Derek, Scott is a Bad Friend, beaten stiles, beatings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-03-27 07:52:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13876479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bilinski_stiles_stilinski/pseuds/Bilinski_stiles_stilinski
Summary: Stiles is always left to fend for himself. He's a good fighter. But even the toughest need a break sometimes. Stiles needs a break. A big break, before he's broken.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Heres a short intro cause I'm tired lol

The iron giant behind him managed to bend backwards enough to get stiles feet to lift off the ground, the spikes in his cleats making their last scraping protest before they were airborne. He barely had enough time to grunt out a sound of protest at being manhandled even more than he was, before dickhead number two punched him in the stomach again. He let out a miserable moan, wondering how many hits he could take before his skin gave up on holding his guts in and split. He took a few more bone crushing hits to his rib cage and abdomen before the iron giant made a maneuver that swung stiles feet into the air as he tossed him to the side to connect painfully with the asphalt.

His knees crackled with audible accuracy with the pavement, a painful ringing ran deep within his bones. Stiles felt sick at the sound. Would his knees even fucking work after this? Had the pavement completely obliterated them because that's exactly what it felt like. Hell. He heard the whoosh of a boot before it hit him. Even with some of his gear hanging on, the hit went straight to his core. He saw stars.

This was just his fucking luck. He had made most of the 12-8 game winning shots tonight in lacrosse. Not scott, not Jackson, him. Stiles. The kid who thought his ass had a permanent seat on the bench until tonight. His dad had made it, Melissa cheered for him, Lydia even smiled at him after the winning shot. For the first time in his life he felt valued on the team. Things were going great, until they suggested the diner and stiles said he’d ride with scott and Allison in her car he just needed to grab his wallet from the trunk where his bag sat. It was his fault for going alone after crushing their famed rivals. But he would have never guessed that while everyone was still celebrating, and hugging and planning their late night dinner, that he’d be getting his ass royally kicked out in the dark parking lot. Alone. Like he always is. The weak human, always getting into shit he cant handle. And tonight, it wasn’t even against the supernatural. Although he had some ideas where the beefy meathead who was currently fracturing bones in his face while meathead two kicked him in the side enough to ensure he had no air in his lungs, was on. And that drug had some supernatural side-effects so maybe all wasn’t lost. 

“alright man, I think he’s had enough” someone with some sense said, after stiles coughed up enough blood to second guess his chances of survival. “look at him, he can’t even focus his eyes”

Well he wasn’t wrong. He was seeing triple at this point, and he wondered if his lips were still lips and not saucy shredded pieces of skin on his face. All he could do was breathe through his mouth at this point, hoping that this guy had had enough fun.

“give me the camera, so I can take pictures” and stiles heart dropped. They were going to spread these images all over the internet for anyone with eyes to see. What if his dad came across them. He would, especially if he came home like this. God…his dad…

 

"take his gear off"

"nhnno" he moaned, holding onto his braces for as he could, but his goons snatched it away from him like it was nothing. 

"Don't worry Stilinksi, Jared will take real good care of it. Just like I'm going to take real good care of you" He said, receiving the camera from Jared and kneeling into his personal space. 

"What...did I...do" he said.

"nothing stiles, nothing" he cooed. He looked around and then motioned for them to grab stiles. "lets go to the trees"

\---

Stiles hit the dirt with an oompf! He began to turn onto his stomach and felt a weight drop onto his back. 

"no, stiles, I actually think this'll be alright" he says, and stiles can hear the grin on his fucking face. Immediately his heart drops. 

"what're you do-"

The solid clunk! of his fist driving across the top of his head reverberates in his teeth, Stiles vision flickers. 

"Did I fucking tell you to speak?!"

"no-" dammit stiles!

Another hit, from the other side, the guy drops the phone beside stiles head and flips him onto his back. Stiles doesn't even get a chance to let out a cry of protest before he's being punched again. _This is getting old_ , he thought. Then he felt the familiar pang of panic as he felt himself losing consciousness. 

"mm losing-" another hit. "I'm gonna pass-"

Jared finally stopped his dickhole of a friend so stiles could get out his fucking words. He was going to pass out. He needed him to know he was going to pass out not because he wanted to be there for whatever they had planned, but he didn't want to not be there. He didn't want them to have free reign on his unconcious body. The thoughts of what they would do sent a shiver down his spine. 

"Let him fucking speak dude" Jared said. 

"What" he said, tipping his chin towards stiles. 

"I'm losing....consciousness" he said in between breaths. It was getting hard for him to breathe. He felt the familiar onset of a panic attack rising deep in his gut. 

"Garrett, lets go. Take the fucking pictures, and let's go"

Ah. Garret. Nice to put a name to a face. faces. stiles was seeing several at this point. 

"Did I fucking ask you to speak?"

"He's the son of the fucking sheriff dude. It's bad enough we beat the shit out of him, let's just go"

"yeah" Stiles sighed, his voice cracking. A slap. _He's starting to get creative_ , he thought. 

 

Scott. Where was Scott. How could he not realized how long Stiles' been gone. I mean the parking lot isnt miles away for fucks sake. Someone has to be wondering where he is. I mean, he won them the game tonight, jesus christ. 

 

A light flicked on, blinding him. He squinted his eyes, feeling the swollen state of his eyelids. He wouldn't be here much longer. The looming darkness pulled at the corners of his consciousness. He heard Jared speaking, and Garrett laughing, but no real words. He felt his mouth open, something went into it, but he couldn't see. Couldn't taste anything except for blood and embarrassment. He'd be the laughing stock of the school, again.  Suddenly the light was gone, and so was the weight on his abdomen. But the spots were still floating in his vision from the brightness. Stiles felt a pull at his foot, stretching it out, then a tug at the waistband of his pants. 

A puff of air hit his bellybutton. 

 _fuck._ he thought. 

And then everything was dark and cold. Colder than when the Nogitsune had claim over his entire being. This was a dreadful darkness, because he knew exactly who had found him, and it wasn’t Scott.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, its been a while. you could say school has been royally kicking my ass. Carrying on however with ch.2

_CRUNCH!_

 

_CRUNCH!_

 

_DRAGG-_

 

_CRUNCH!!-_

 

The cool night air blew with halloween-ish accuracy, lifting leaves from their piles and swirling them into air tornadoes, depositing them wherever it pleased. The moon shone through the trees providing just enough light to make walking a little easier. But wolves don't need the moonlight...warewolves don't need the moonlight. Derek's full wolf form takes another step backward into the darkness, his legs pull with careful precision the torn remnants of a lacrosse jersey. Theres a body in it though. It's Stiles. Still bloodied and bruised to the 9s. Derek takes another step back, panting. Then he carefully deposits stiles onto the ground by slowly releasing the material from between his teeth. Stiles doesn't stir. Derek sits on his hind legs, panting-listening, for anything that could be potentially dangerous. There's no one out here but them. He whines and begins licking stiles face carefully. 

Suddenly he pulls back, tongue running over his teeth in an attempt rid his mouth of foul taste. This won't do. 

He shifts, kneeling beside Stiles, debating where he can safely pick him up. He decides bridal style is the best way, really the only way. After all he did just spend twenty minutes pulling him through soft dirt-carrying him is something he should have done from the start. But his instinct of getting him as far away from trouble as possible was too strong. 

 

"Why is it always you" he says, grunting as he lifts with his knees, adjusting the body with a small bump up. "its always you."

He starts running. 

\-------------------------------------

Stiles comes to with a start, hands meeting in front of his face to block a hit. He doesn't know where he is, doesn't understand the soft light at the base of his feet, the darkness everywhere else. Can't quite comprehend the softness of the couch beneath him, or the blanket draped across his body. His breaths get caught in his throat, eyes-eye, wide with fear and confusion. He looks around, can't see much through his blurry and swollen left eye, but the room is dark overall. 

"fuck" he moans, sitting up on his elbows. They ache. 

The blanket falls down, and he realizes from the gush of air that he has no shirt on. His body is covered in white patches that are cool against his skin. From the bandages around his knuckles he realizes someone is taking care of him. He licks his lip. It stings, swollen and puffy on the left side. It holds a heavy weight on his face and after bringing attention to it it feels like it weighs a ton. 

His shaky hands move to lower the rest of the blanket, sighing when he's got basketball shorts on. But they're far too large for him, tied tight at the waist to keep them up on his much smaller hips. As he slowly lowers his legs to the ground he hears a noise start from beyond the darkness. His hands go up to his forehead, trying to see through the shadows. He notices another cool bandage draping from his forehead, over his eyebrow and down the side of his face. While he's becoming familiar with it he doesn't see the shadow in the darkness begin to approach. 

Suddenly a hand reaches towards his face from an angle on his bad side that causes him to jump and flinch, falling back into the couch, chest rising and falling rapidly.

"don't touch-"

"no!" he shouts, holding a hand out protectively. 

Derek moves into the light a bit more, his face laced with surprise. 

"Stiles-I-I'm sorry I didn't know you couldn't see-"

"....Derek? he breathes, unmoving. 

"...I-I'm sorry, I-" he trips over his words, hands meeting in the center like a child in such an un-derek-like manner. Derek waits patiently for Stiles' heart rate to slow. It takes ten solid minutes of unmoving, unwavering eye contact. Stiles finally swallows, takes his eyes off of Derek, looks around the dark loft. Looks down at himself, realization setting in. His face contorts with pain.

"oh my god-I-the game, I went to the parking lot-scott-I'm pathetic- the camera, my dad- oh fuck my dad-my dad!"

Derek rushes in, choppily grabbing his shoulders, facing him towards himself. 

"stiles, breathe"

"I'm fucking breathing man" he says as tears begin to well in his eyes. "I'm breathing!"

And then he cries. Pathetic sobs with even more pathetic breaths, robbed of their full potential and laced with wheezing and gasping. Derek thinks one of his ribs might be broken. He drops his arms and Stiles follows it by sinking into his side. They sit like that for thirty minutes. 

\-----------------------------

The diner is bustling with Lacrosse Players. The staff are enjoying the company, rounds of milkshakes are brought out one after the other. The table in the far back, the only round table booth in the whole place is chock full of cheerleaders and their boyfriends, Scott and Allison, Lydia and Jackson. They laugh and joke together, throwing fries across the table and shoving one another. The atmosphere is light. Allison leans over and gives Scott a surprise kiss, Scott returning the gesture with a finger of whip cream to BOP! her nose with. They kiss again.

"Disgusting" Jackson remarks right before Lydia plants one on his own lips. 

"Like this?" She smiles. 

"Just like that" He says, kissing her back. 

Danny joins the table after picking up a freshman by the collar and reseating him at the table behind them. He sits down, hickeys on his neck. The table goes quiet for a moment before everyone starts laughing. Danny blushes and shoves one of them. 

Next, food hits the table. Burgers and Onion rings. Danny tells the waitress he moved tables and requests his chicken tenders and curly fries be brought to him here instead. She smiles. When they hit the table Lydia makes a face.

"Who ordered curly fries?"

"I did"

"I thought you hated curly fries"

"Yeah, but Stiles doesn't"

Lydia looks at Scott. 

"Where is he?"

"Um, he said he was going to his car or something but I figured he decided to stay with his dad after Sheriff Stilinski headed to the parking lot and Stiles never came back. Our car was full either way"

"So...what does that mean, Scott, because I didn't order these fries for him not to show up" Danny says, bottle of ketchup hovering over his chicken tenders. 

"Call him" Lydia demands.

"Maybe he just doesn't want to be here" Allison chimes.

"He won the game tonight, Allison. He has no where to be, but here."

Scott raises his phone shyly, the screen is still black. Lydia makes a "so?" motion with her head. 

"It's dead..." He shrugs his shoulders.

"What are you good for Scott McCall I swear to God-" she says, digging in her own purse for her cellphone. She whips it out, flashing a cold smile before dialing his number. 

Everyone waits with anticipation. She lowers the phone, raising her eyebrows, lips curling up. 

"He didn't answer. Something has to be wrong-"

"Lydia, you don't need to jump to the worst conclusions-" Allison starts.

"It went straight to voicemail. Stiles NEVER lets his phone go straight to voicemail"

"I'm sure it died, and he's home celebrating with his dad. We'll stop by on the way back, Lydia, no big deal." Jackson says.

"No big-No big deal. Just like that right." She pushes everyone out the way so she can stand from the booth. 

"where are you going our food is coming out!" Jackson calls. 

She sticks up her middle finger and she makes her way to the door. 

"fucking idiots" she sneers under her breath. 

Right when her hand touches the door she turns around, walking back to the table, heels _click-clacking_ against the linoleum floor. She picks up the plate of curly fries, turns on her heels and exits. 

"Hey! I paid for those!" Danny calls, mouth full of food. 

Scott watches her leave with an uneasy face. Jackson slaps his arm.

"dude he's fine"

\--------------------------

Stiles lurches forward again, vomit splashes back into his face, sweat beading at his brow. He heaves, hands gripping the toilet seat as hard as his injuries would allow. He's panting. A small bead of blood trickles down from his blue nose. He groans. 

A wet washcloth is placed at his forehead. He raises a shaky hand to hold it. 

"I've got it" comes Dereks soft voice. 

"m'nose is bleeding..." Stiles announces, half in a daze.

"I'm going to lean you back against the wall" Derek says, grabbing his shoulders and moving him into place. Stiles slumps, unable to hold his weight. 

"Hold this to your head, I need to go make a call"

"please don't call my dad" Stiles whispers. 

Derek hesitates at the door. 

"I'm calling Deaton" he says even softer, his eyelids drop with pitying grace.

He exits the room.

 

Enters his bedroom, his hands clench at his sides, eyes flashing red. He spins to punch the wall, stopping mere centimeters from the brick surface. He lets out a growl, groaning and throwing punches into the air. He grabs his hair, pulling, clenching his teeth, eyes a wild red. 

Then he breathes. Releases such a long breath of air the one he takes in comes to him in a wheeze, like the breath taken in after staying under the surface of water too long. It's immediately followed up by a cracked sob.

He picks up his phone, dials Deaton. 

"Why is it always you" he repeats to himself. 

"Derek, I hope you know that no matter where you are in the world, 2am in Beacon hills is still 2am in Beacon hills-

"I need help."

"...well, Derek you know I'm always here to help but-"

"Deaton is Stiles, please-"

Theres a long pause. 

"Where are you."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia finally gets in contact with Derek about a missing Stiles. Deaton is there for support. The pack still haven't figured it out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry its so short, fight me, I'm tired.

Deaton wipes a bead of sweat from his brow. Then raising a hand to discretely wipe his eyes. Derek turns to face him, his white t-shirt now covered in blood. He looks helpless. Deaton nods once, wipes his hands on the towel he's holding and takes a deep breath, checking his watch. 

 

4:17 am

 

Deaton looks back at Derek. 

"he'll be okay for now. But I really need to take x-rays. His breathing shouldn't sound like that"

"can we get him in tomorrow morning? actually, let's go now, I can-" Derek starts, moving towards the bed, where Stiles lays, finally sleeping and completely patched up. 

 

Deaton makes a sudden start towards Derek in a panic. "No, no leave him. he needs to rest, after all of this his best bet is to sleep right now. But we'll get him in, I promise you that"

 

Derek stands up straight and nods at Deaton. He looks around the room for something, anything, to do with his hands. Deaton glances at Stiles.

 

"derek, what happened?" 

 

Derek stops and looks at Deaton, then down to Stiles. He moves to go sit in the living room. When Deaton plops down onto the couch next to Derek, Derek folds his hands in his lap. The room has an eerie stillness to it that puts Derek on edge. He's trying to find the words to tell Deaton that this wasn't even a supernatural encounter. That no being in any of the thick text books that litter Stiles room or Deaton office or even Dereks study were responsible for the state that Stiles is in. This was a human vs human disaster. It was bullying. 

 

Derek angrily admits in the back of his head that if anyone were to be on the receiving end of such a situation it would be stiles. Stiles is odd, spastic, quirky, has a mouth on him that could have ended his life many a time, but it's also saved their asses countless times. He certainly isn't stronger than any one of the men in the pack, tall and lanky with lean muscle gives him the agility but not the endurance, not the protection. He still doesn't get how he managed to be on his own, how the pack didn't come to check on him, why he was alone in the woods off the  back end of the parking lot when Derek could hear people still down at the field. It made his blood boil when he though about how the pack was probably out partying or something, and not one of them was thinking about Stiles. Stiles would never have let anyone go unheard from for so long, unless the pack hadnt even tried to contact him...did they even know he was supposedly unheard from?- Stiles would never. He'd be all over the situation, unapologetically annoying with every move, but you'd be safe. He'd make sure you'd be safe. He can't say the same for the rest of the pack so it had to be Stiles, naturally, it had to be Stiles...It was always Stiles. 

"derek?"

"I don't know" he breathes. "I was coming to see if I could catch the end of the game after a long run...heard some commotion in the trees up ahead...heard Stiles"

Deaton grunts.

"When I got there, he was surrounded by some assholes...he was in the dirt, telling them he was losing consciousness, they laughed and hit him. He was in bad shape, and then they started the camera"

Deaton watches Derek as he tries to remember every detail of what happened next. Deaton listens silently, doesn't ask questions, doesn't respond, just listens. Watches the way, for the first time, Derek has trouble maintaining his composure. His voice breaks, his fists clench and unclench. He doesn't look Deaton in the eye when he tells him he wishes he had killed every last one of them. Wish he'd taken their heads for trophies. Explains how hard it was to limit his damage to bloody noses, says he knows he broke several bones, mumbles when he says he wished he'd broken necks. When he tells Deaton about finding Stiles in a daze after waking up in the loft, he breaks. He keeps his face taught, but the tears spill over and down his face. He doesn't seem to notice them, because he talks through them, even as they drop from his chin. A small strangled sob escapes past his lips and he buries his head in his hands. 

" Did you call Sheriff Stilinski?"

 

"No." Derek wipes his face. "Stiles asked me not to-"

 

"We need to. He needs to know what's going on"

 

"Not now" Derek jerks forward.

 

"Not now" Deaton agrees. "But soon..."

 

Derek takes a moment before he nods in agreement. A vibration fills the room before a tune chimes on, some mixture of bells and whistles. Derek stands up and retrieves his phone from the kitchen island. He looks at the caller ID. Lydia Martin. 

 

"It's Lydia" He states.

 

Deaton nods for him to answer. 

 

"Hello?"

 

"Derek!" He hears her breathe a sigh of relief. "Derek, it's Lydia-"

 

"I know"

 

"Have you heard from Stiles?" She says in one breath. She's slightly panicked. "I've been trying to get a hold of him all night, we were supposed to meet up at the diner after the win tonight but he never showed and the usual assholes said he went home with John but I just went by the house and his jeep isn't there, and so I went back to the school and his jeep is in the parking lot and Derek I'm panicking because he isn't answering his cellphone and stiles ALWAYS answers his cellphone-"

 

"Lydia-"

 

"I know its late Derek, and I know you hate him but for fucks sake, he's missing! Stiles is missing! and if I hear from one more god damn person that this is just Stiles being stiles, that he's  _probably_ fine i'm going to lose my shit, okay, I'm going to lose my shit!" He hears her voice break. He can hear her crying. "Damnit Derek, he's pack, and no one gives a shit that he might not be okay. He's too good for this-"

 

"Lydia, he's here" Derek says, looking down at the floor after glancing over at Deaton. 

 

"...what?" she sniffles. "He is? How- is he okay? where did he go, why wasn't he at the diner, his phone-"

 

"Lydia where are you?"

 

"...I'm, I'm driving away from the school...Derek what's going on? Is he okay? Derek?"

 

"You should come over here for a little while. Just you. Don't message the pack alright?"

 

"Derek..."

 

"Just get here, okay, Lydia?"

 

"I'm on my way" She says. 

 

"Hey Lydia" Derek says quickly, trying to catch her before she hangs up. 

 

"yeah?" She sniffles again, probably starting to cry again. 

 

"Um. He's alive okay?" Derek scratches the back of his head. 

 

"okay" she says, and the lines goes dead. 

 

Derek locks his phone, and reluctantly looks up at Deaton. Deaton stands. 

 

"where's your tea kettle?"

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lydia sips tea from a red mug, seated at the dining room table of Dereks loft. Her eyes are red and puffy, black makeup streaks run down her cheeks. She doesn't look at anyone, doesn't want to. Derek sips his tea as well, slowly, absentmindedly. Deaton returns from the kitchen, his mug filled to the rim and steaming. He takes a slow seat at the table, stirs his tea once he's settled, and releases a large sigh. 

 

"He's still sleeping, peacefully I might add" Deaton sips his tea, making a noise that would usually want to make derek punch a hole through the wall. Now he just stares into the murky water of his own mug. "Lydia are you alright?"

 

"You know none of them cared, when I said something was wrong in the diner. They all shrugged it off." She scoffs. "I knew something was wrong" 

 

Derek and Lydias phones both go off at the same time. Lydia looks down at the group chat. She scoffs again and turns the phone to face down. 

 

"They're asking if anyone has heard from Stiles. It's almost 5:30 in the morning" she pushes her mug away from her and stands. "idiots. all of them."

 

Derek finally looks up from his mug, eyes locking with hers. 

 

"Lydia, you didn't scream, did you?"

 

She studies her cup a little while longer, and derek smells shame on her. 

 

"....no" she closes her eyes. "I didn't feel him at all tonight. I always feel him."

 

"How odd" Deaton comments.

 

"Yeah" she says. 

 

She walks away from the dining room, feet softly padding across the hardwood floors. She enters the bedroom as quietly as she can. Stiles is laying on his back under the covers, his breaths come in strained puffs, but he seems peaceful none the less. Lydia tries not to stare at his injuries any more than she has as she climbs up onto the bed to lie next to him. He doesn't stir even when she jostles the mattress on accident getting comfortable. She watches him sleep. She softly touches his face.

 

"I'm here stiles" she says softly. 

 

She'll tell herself that the small movement he made with his head after she said that was him dreaming. She knows what's going on in his mind. She can feel the embarrassment. She wonders how many times he thought about how much fun the pack was having without him, that maybe he didn't deserve to be there. Maybe this was all he was good for, distracting, getting hurt, taking on the hard stuff while everyone was enjoying themselves. As Lydia stared at him she could feel more sorrow bubbling up in her chest. How pathetic would he feel waking up to find just her here? She vowed in that moment to never tell him how long it took the rest of the pack to give a damn. Only when everyone was settled in at home did they think to see if anyone checked on Stiles. She knows Jackson never went by the house. They'd know something was up if they didn't see stiles jeep parked in the drive way. But they didn't, so they don't. She blinks a tear down her cheek, raises his right arm up to kiss his hand as more tears run down her face. 

 

"It's Lydia, Stiles..." She kisses his hand again. "I brought you curly fries"


End file.
